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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815996">High Seas</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow/pseuds/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow'>WelpThisIsMyLifeNow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Undertale (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Allusions to a history of assault but no descriptions, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Both classic sans and underfell sans, Classic sans is a court jester, Filled with tropes and I won't apologize, First chapter is mostly exposition/scene setting and I do apologize for that, Humans and monsters both on the surface, Kidnapping, Medieval fantasy setting, Other, Picks up after that I swear, Pirates, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Reader is Royalty, Reader referred to as they/them, Reader sings but I tried not to make it obnoxious, Underfell Papyrus (Undertale), Underfell Sans (Undertale), Underfell sans is a pirate, Undertale Sans</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:20:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,479</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28815996</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow/pseuds/WelpThisIsMyLifeNow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A story of pirates, royalty, and adventure!</p><p>_______</p><p>As the heir apparent of the kingdom of humans, you stood as the sole beacon of hope for the future of your people. </p><p>Your existence, however, was a dirty rotten lie.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sans (Undertale) &amp; Reader, Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Sans (Undertale)/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hello everyone!</p><p>I apologize because this first chapter will be mostly scene-setting and exposition. I will put a tl;dr in the section below. I'll be posting the next chapter in the next day or so, and I hope you like it enough to stay 'til then!</p><p>CW for allusions to assault, though no specific description made.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As the heir apparent of the kingdom of humans, you stood as the sole beacon of hope for the future of your people. </p><p>The line of succession from the current king and queen had continued—straight and unbroken—since the time before written texts began. For years now, you had been constantly trained, dressed up, paraded through streets and ceremonies alike—the people loved you as much as the king and queen of your fair land, your position adored and celebrated at every turn.</p><p>Your existence, however, was a dirty, rotten lie. </p><p> </p><p>There <em> had </em> been a true heir at one time—a natural-born child of the King and Queen. A child that, apparently, you bore a <em> striking </em> resemblance to.</p><p>If you tried hard enough, you could pry open the coffin-lid to your memories of <em> before </em>, and vaguely select out the one time you had seen the child in question. You wouldn’t be able to say how old you were when it happened; anyone that held memory of your age had long since died before that moment, and—as a child whose focus was torn between survival and dodging the city guards—you hardly kept count.</p><p>You had long heard tales of the child heir, though—they looked to be the same age as you, so you guessed you were about eight at the time. As young as you were, you could remember that day with stark clarity, the memory burned in bright against the dimness of your past. </p><p>There had been some sort of parade—a celebration of the heir’s birthday, you think. The child had been standing in between their parents on a horse-drawn float, waving at the masses that applauded their existence.</p><p>You felt like the sole being that wasn’t cheering. At the time—childishly and jealously—you decided you <em> hated </em> them.</p><p>They had everything you didn’t—parents, a home, people who <em> cared</em>. Their existence was so, <em> so </em> easy; they never knew the feeling of being close to death of hunger and the cold, or the dangers of strangers in the dark, or—the worst of it—being stuck in the dark box that was the confines of the orphanage…</p><p>But, as much as you hated the heir—you would have never wished for their death.</p><p> </p><p>As you would find out just a few weeks later, the child would be killed—that very <em> night</em>—by a Fell.</p><p> </p><p>Just as long as there had been humans, there had been just <em> one </em> other kingdom in the land: the kingdom of Monsters.</p><p>Throughout history, monsters and humans wavered <em> constantly </em> between periods of war and peace. The more barbaric of times had nearly seen genocide of both races at different points—but the balance always seemed to swing back to one direction or the other, never fully extinguishing the light on either side.</p><p>As the slow progression of the world turned, both sides eventually found themselves flagging at the violence. The world, soaked in ancient layers of blood and dust, seemed to cry out for rest, for peace—<em>some </em> eventual end to the battle.</p><p>Peace talks—real, <em> sincere </em> ones—began for the first time in history. Battles drew to final ceasefires, and talks of wiping the past feuds clean for the sake of the future of monster and humankind began to take firm ground. It seemed like the heir of mankind would be the first to reign—in their entirety—a rule of complete peace.</p><p> </p><p>Then, one day—with all the freak violence of a hurricane—the Fells appeared.</p><p> </p><p>No one knew what hole they crawled out of; even the most researched of scholars had no trace of evidence of their existence. They appeared overnight—and, most alarmingly, they appeared to be <em> copies </em> of the monster race. </p><p>Overnight, they razed entire towns. They murdered indiscriminately. And—unknown to the rest of the kingdom—they managed to invade the castle and assassinate the heir to humanity’s kingdom. The humans were convinced, at first, that the arrival of the Fell had been a ploy by monsterkind to double their forces, to launch a final attack on humanity. </p><p>The peace that had been building for so long was <em> nearly </em> broken.</p><p>The dawn of war almost immediately struck—until reports came in of the Fell attacking the monster kingdom itself. They had similarly attempted to murder the heir of the monster kingdom—but had failed.</p><p>Later, in the undercurrents of the human and monster kingdoms alike, whispers wondered if the Fell had been brought as a curse—an attempt by those who held on fast to the blood of the past to tear apart the peace that had been formed.</p><p>If this had been the aim by whatever unseen force, they failed spectacularly; instead, the alliance of peace was struck that very night—humans and monsters joining together to fend off this new enemy. The Fell were merciless, powerful, and fierce—even fighting together, the two kingdoms were only <em> barely </em>able to drive back their powerful army. But, eventually, they were able to stand victorious; the Fell retreated to the sea, commandeering entire fleets with ease. </p><p>There was hope that they’d return to whatever hell pit they’d crawled out of—but they lingered, a disease that spread throughout the waters surrounding the kingdoms. </p><p>As peace was settled on land, the Fell pirate kingdom began their reign of terror on the high seas.</p><p> </p><p>Only the select few trusted advisors to the king and queen became privy to the death of the heir. The death was unprecedented—and threatened the very foundation of the kingdom itself, let alone the fragile, glass-paper peace that had been forged. </p><p> </p><p>It was one such adviser—a man named Niccolò—that found you busking on the streets, just a few short days after the heir’s death. The city that had grown around the palace was only <em> barely </em> beginning to pick up the pieces after the attack from the Fell—so, as expected, you were making very little from your singing, the minds of the wanderers by far too preoccupied for entertainment.</p><p>You’d been desperate—you hadn’t made a single G in the past few days, and most of the markets had been shut down for repair, making theft almost impossible. You were—not for the first time—beginning to starve.</p><p>You’d been hopeful when the high-cheekboned plump man had stood in front of you. He looked <em> wealthy</em>, with more than a few G to spare-</p><p>But then he looked at you in… a way that was less than normal. </p><p>...In a way that said he wasn’t actually <em> listening </em> to you sing.</p><p>During your brief stints at the orphanage, several older children had taken the time to warn you about folks that looked at you <em> that </em> way. To always trust your gut and <em> run. </em></p><p>Unfortunately, with all the typical optimism of youth, had not initially heeded their words—and dearly paid the price. After that day, you vowed <em> never again</em>.</p><p>So this time, when the piercing, calculative eyes of this stranger roamed your form—you heeded their sage words and <em> booked it</em>. </p><p>You heard the man calling for the guards—what, was it illegal to <em> sing </em> now?—and tried to run as fast as your little legs could carry. You ran through an alley, hoping your knowledge of the place would make up for your tiny legs-</p><p>-until you found yourself being jerked back, the strong arm of the law literal as you were hefted off your feet and over an official-looking shoulder. You screamed, and kicked, and bit—doing everything in your power to revolt—until you were brought before the man. </p><p>You had expected to be brought back to the orphanage, or perhaps death, or perhaps something <em> worse </em>—but could never have expected to be brought to the palace itself. You’d been shown off like some treasured lost artifact to the King and Queen—standing there in dingy clothes, more dirt than human, the royal couple wept openly when they first saw you. </p><p>Overnight, you went from orphan to royal heir. </p><p>No one <em> asked </em> you if you wanted to replace the heir, or live at the palace. Your life was put, once again, into a box—this one ornate, and warm, and safe. A box nonetheless—but one you learned to live with, convinced yourself into contentedness with.</p><p> </p><p>Years later—grown past the point of childhood and well into adulthood—your past both felt surreal but clinging, a shadow you could never fully shake nor take hold of. You were treated well enough; the King and Queen were kind, though never quite <em> loving</em>, and the advisors and tutors alike approved of how well you took to your training. You were never disobedient, never mouthy, never <em> childish</em>—and you convinced court and public alike that all was just as it was, just as it was meant to be.</p><p>However, inside, you never felt at peace. </p><p>Though no one ever threatened you with it, the instability of your position haunted you, drove you to attempt to achieve absolute perfection with everything you did. Prim and proper, you ensured the face you wore was—at all times—flawless. You stood at a distance from your peers and seniors alike, too afraid that someone might get <em> too </em> good of a peek at you and realize you for the fraud you were. In those late nights, laying among plush bedding and ornate pillows, images of the consequences of failure—to the kingdom, to the peace treaty, to <em> yourself</em>—wrapped itself around you nightly.</p><p>Your life, caged here among opulence and abundance, was <em> still </em>one of unending survival.</p><p> </p><p>...That wasn’t, of course, to say it was <em> all </em> bad. </p><p> </p><p>There were days—rare and few—where the monsters would come from their far off homeland to pay a visit to your kingdom. And—even better still—were the rare occasions that you were sent to <em> their </em>kingdom for diplomatic missions. </p><p>Prior to this new life, you had never seen monsters before—and, be it providing entertainment at court, or simply witnessing them living their daily lives from the window of your carriage—it never failed to provide a deep sense of wonder and adventure to your world.</p><p>And then, of course, there was…</p><p>Well, you wouldn’t call him a <em> friend</em>, exactly. At least not out loud. Perhaps… the endless pain in your rear? </p><p> </p><p><em> Sans</em>, that blasted skeletal monster. </p><p> </p><p>You only ever saw him at the yearly peace meetings or during your expeditions out to the monster kingdom. He was a court jester—and, from the day you had first met, it seemed like he made it his personal mission to drive you <em> insane.  </em></p><p>Whether it be during the formal dinners, or extravagant balls, or the all-important treaty meetings—Sans was eternally trying to crack you. He’d never made you outright laugh in public—your iron-will was far too clamped to pry—but even the smallest of smiles Sans would obnoxiously laud over you as a personal success.</p><p>When you had first met, you had taken it as a personal attack; for a comedian, his eyes seemed far too sharp, piercing through you. It felt like, from the moment he first saw you, he <em> knew</em>. </p><p>He could see you were a fake. A liar. A false existence.</p><p>But slowly, over time… his good-naturedness wore you down. In the quiet moments—as the celebrations would wind down, or the brief breaks you’d have from political negotiations—he always seemed to find you. No matter how subtly you slipped away prying eyes of polite company, or distracted and disappeared from the attendant staff, or flat-out hid—sooner or later, he’d pop up with that easy grin and bright eyes. He’d tell you joke after joke—and, at first, you <em> refused </em> to break. No matter how intricate or stupid, or tasteful or tasteless—you kept up your mask of utter annoyance and ill humor.</p><p>It wasn’t until the fifth year—when the exhaustion of worry became far too much to bear—you had finally laughed in front of him. </p><p>He, as <em> always</em>, had found you after that year’s peace treaty meeting, hiding alone in the galley long after the cooks had gone to bed. </p><p>It had been… a <em> rough </em>celebration.</p><p>There had been a girl you recognized from your childhood—much older, much more worn. It seemed like she had married into money; her husband lauded her as they crossed the banquet hall like a delicately arranged bouquet, and she was <em> nearly </em>unrecognizable to you without the layers of grime caking her. </p><p>But those eyes… haunted, and tired, and without real mirth behind them—an unmistakable, soul-level scar that no amount of money could heal.</p><p>Thankfully, she hadn’t recognized <em> you. </em>Unable to meet her stare—fearful she might recognize the same look in your eyes—you couldn’t tell if there was any sincere happiness there. You truly hoped so, but it was hard to imagine. </p><p>
  <em> Is that all there is for people like us? A cage or death? </em>
</p><p>The thought had wrapped itself around you, tight and constricting, as you attempted to keep that constant neutrality throughout the night. Normally you were good at brushing it off—but that <em> sight </em> wore you down through the evening, constantly grinding at the heavy wall you lead with.</p><p>You were so tired, and so worn, and the visions of your youth had felt so close that night...</p><p>The kitchen had felt safe. Most staff avoided it at the end of celebrations (<em>lest they be called to lend a hand with the cleaning</em>), and the stomachs of guests and residents were far too full to call on food for this hour. Foolishly, you had <em> assumed </em> Sans wouldn’t dare attempt to find you so far into the belly of the castle, <em> far </em> too deep within for a monster to venture into and it still be considered polite. You had been sitting there—face expressionless among the cabbage—when he popped up out of nowhere. </p><p>He made a joke. You didn’t even remember what he said. </p><p>For the first time since your memory began—you laughed. It sounded weary, and broken, and alien to you—but present, unstoppable, flowing through the crack in the dam that had been held up for so many years.</p><p>And then you began to sob.</p><p> </p><p>Sans had comforted you that night—telling joke after joke until the tears of sorrow seesawed back to ones of laughter. </p><p>The two of you never spoke about it after—but at every visit since, the two of you would <em> happen </em> to find each other away from everyone else—and he’d tell you jokes, and you wouldn’t hold back your laughter. As much as he tortured you during the formal times… in your heart of hearts, he made your meetings with the monsters the sole thing you looked forward to. You began to <em> insist</em>—as much as you dared, anyway—to be brought on the expeditions to the monster kingdom. Although you had the feeling Sans—far too sharp for his own good—noticed this, he made no comment; and you, too, made no remark about <em> his </em> increased appearances in the royal party’s visits to your kingdom.</p><p>Though you’d never say it out loud—and <em> certainly </em> never to him, with that dung-eating grin—he was probably your only true companion.</p><p> </p><p>It was now fall, and—despite the curling chill that signaled an early winter approaching—you couldn’t have been more excited. </p><p>The 20 year anniversary of the peace treaty was coming, and the celebrations were going to be <em> enormous</em>. </p><p>But, more importantly…</p><p>You’d be seeing your boney <strike> friend</strike> annoyance soon. The days leading up to the treaty, you found your nights—for once—were held with nice, hopeful dreams of mirth and <em> enjoyment </em> rather than fears and self-doubt. As per usual, each approaching day seemed longer than the last, your excitement building to the point where happiness <em> almost </em> cracked through your ever-neutral disposition. When the day <em> finally </em> arrived, you felt your heart brimming, practically ready to burst.</p><p>It was going to be a great night, you could just <em> feel </em>it. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello all and welcome to my fic!<br/>I sincerely hope you liked it; please let me know if you're interested in this in the comments below! As I mentioned in the beginning notes, there is unfortunately quite a bit of exposition in this chapter to explain the premise. I hope it wasn't too tedious.</p><p>Tl;dr for those who would like it:<br/>» Two kingdoms: Humans and Monsters<br/>» The monsters were never forced underground, but have been at war with humans for centuries<br/>» When peace was finally being struck, a third, unheard of kingdom called Fells appeared. They assinated the heir to the human kingdom.<br/>» Peace was struck between humans and monsters as they joined to drive the Fell back<br/>» The reader--and orphan--was found to look identical to the deceased heir, and was brought in as a secret replacement<br/>» The Fell have since become pirates after being driven off the land<br/>» The reader is now an adult, having served as fake heir all this time.<br/>» They become friends with a certain skeleton, and hope to see him at the anniversary of the peace treaty celebrations.</p><p> </p><p>And that's it! Please let me know if this is something I should continue, and the next chapter should be coming along shortly!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Seeking</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And so we begin.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The monsters arrived at noon.</p><p>They came in a caravan—looking more to you like a circus than a royal brigade, their coaches far more colorful and lively than the carefully-crafted, elegantly intricate designs of your kingdom’s. </p><p>You—as always during the arrival ceremony of your allies—were standing beside the king and queen on the front steps of the palace, waiting for the monster family to disembark from their carriages for the formal greeting. There were hundreds of human citizens lining up the road to the palace—all happy, all cheering, all overjoyed at the momentous occasion.</p><p>Standing there in your finest, most <em> restrictive </em> garments, sweating under the heavy midday sun, and feeling the weight of a mass of stranger’s stares in your direction—you would’ve swore you were still the happiest of them all.</p><p> </p><p>With well-practiced and effortless elegance, the King Asgore and Queen Toriel glided their way up the steps to the grand front entrance. In the early days, they always appeared in full battle armor—the hanging <em> just in case </em> dangingling above them—but now, upon this anniversary, they were dressed with the same elegant wear they wore at their own formal events at home. Similarly, the smiles they greeted you and the King and Queen with were the ones you saw reserved for those close to them—a true smile between friends.</p><p>Your King and Queen greeted them with ecstatic exuberance, returning that sincere kinship affection. As pleasantries were murmured between the couples, you spied Asriel—the monster prince—hanging out behind his parents. In the early days, he almost<em> never </em> left his parents’ side, and the shyness had lingered into his young adulthood—but, catching your gaze, he gave you a hesitant smile and moved over to you.</p><p>“Howdy! It’s nice to see you, your highness.” Similar to his parents, his apparel was coated in the royal purples and golds—the colors of his kingdom. Though he wore a cloak identical to his father’s—full purple, fastened with the golden delta rune emblem of their kingdom—you spied an identically-colored tailcoat, vest, and trousers. The swirling, pattern gold stitching was <em> incredibly </em>fine; you recognized it as likely the work of some of the bunny seamstresses. Although fashion wasn’t much of your forté, you always made it a point to stop by and pick a few pieces of their expert craftsmanship during your expeditions—you had actually commissioned your current clothing from their shop, feeling it a fitting choice for the celebration.</p><p>“It’s very nice to see you again as well, Prince Asriel,” you said warmly, nodding politely in his direction. His smile relaxed, and he gave a return nod. </p><p>“You as well!” he said brightly, before seeming to catch himself. “Ah, but I suppose I already said that. Right…”</p><p>Sympathy panging in your chest—he’d never been the most <em> eloquent </em> of royals—you shook your head, dismissing it. “I’m flattered; it must mean the sentiment is sincere. How were your travels?”</p><p>Relief taking some of the tight rigidity out of his formal posture, his voice fell into steady ease as the two of you made polite smalltalk. Although you had known Asriel for many years now—most of your lifetime by this point—his recurrent shyness and your firmly <em> polite </em> nature had kept your relationship bobbing on surface level. Definitely pleasant, but without much depth.</p><p>Queen Toriel was the first to break away from the pleasantries, coming over to greet you. She was dressed as finely as you’d ever seen her: her outer dress was that same purple as the rest of her family, but her underskirt was a <em> dazzling </em> gold, rivaling the pure brilliance of her kind expression. As always, the moment her gaze landed on you, she <em> instantly </em> radiated warmth. When you’d first met her, you wondered if it was some sort of magic influence used as a trick—but monsters and humans alike seemed to be utterly enamored with her maternal presence.</p><p>In the typical song and dance, you greeted her formally—to which she immediately brushed aside, clasping your hands as she inspected you with the critical eye of a concerned mother. When it seemed you had passed—no illness or malady present—she beamed pure, loving sunshine at you.</p><p>“My dear, it is so nice to see you are well. I do not know that I have ever seen you ever look so radiant inside and out. What a delight it is to find you in such a state.”</p><p>Slightly jarred by the sheer, sincere force of her compliment, you found your cheeks heating—before you quickly grabbed hold of the reigns, nodding in thanks. </p><p>“That is utterly kind of you—as always, Queen Toriel. I am sincerely overjoyed to see that you and your family seem to be shining just as bright.” Although they were honeyed words, sweetened with the years of political practice—you found you meant them sincerely. “I’ll admit, I have been incredibly excited for this momentous celebration.”</p><p>“As have we,” came the rumbling baritone of the King. One of the few things that hadn’t changed since your childhood was just how <em> massive </em>the king seemed; even as you grew taller, his grand stature never seemed to change. </p><p>Despite this, the sheer amount of gentle, congenial affection in his gaze was more than enough to set the smallest of infants at ease. If Toriel was bright and life-giving sunshine, he was the steady warmth of a hearth: steady, encompassing, and protective from the cold. You felt these dual fires radiate from them both as the King joined his wife in front of you.</p><p>Under his cloak, you saw a coat not dissimilar to Asriel’s—although, perhaps, with a bit more padding and more traces of gold.</p><p>
  <em> That’s interesting. I wonder if it’s a simple stylistic choice to match his son so closely, or perhaps they’re signaling he may soon be ready to succeed the throne…? </em>
</p><p>Asgore flashed you a genuine smile before turning to your King. “Let us begin the festivities, shall we? It is high time we delight in what these years of peace have brought us all.”</p><p>Your King readily agreed—waving to Niccolò, who then signaled that the fanfare should begin. Loud trumpets, bursting with notes of official jubilation, sounded out among the courtyard—leading to an echoing wave of responding cheers from the crowd.</p><p>The celebration had officially begun.</p><p>As the attendants—led by Frederick, the Master of Ceremonies—ushered you all inside, you took a brief moment to pause, eyes scanning among the monster’s royal party-</p><p>You locked your gaze with those two, white eyelights looking back in your direction.</p><p>
  <em> Sans! </em>
</p><p>As Frederick (fretful and impatient as ever) personally began to shoo you inside, you didn’t have much time to look at Sans; you caught a flash of a deep blue coat, but that was about it. Instead, you took the opportunity to shoot him a maskless, elated grin before turning your way back inside.</p><p>You <em> knew </em> he would be here—but, all the same, finally <em> seeing </em>him had your heart instantly alight in your chest.</p><p> </p><p>Sans watched as you turned away from him, waves of thumps in his soul still echoing from that rare, genuine smile.</p><p>
  <em> it’s nice to see ya too, kid. </em>
</p><p>“<em>SANS! </em>QUIT YOUR BOONDOGGLING AND COME HELP WITH THESE CRATES!”</p><p>Sans’s focus swiveled to his brother—the great Papyrus, sole “trainee member” of the Royal Guard—currently lifting out several boxes from the back of a cart. This was being done, of course, much to the dismay of one of the Royal attendants—Muttontrousers (<em>née Felix</em>)—who was anxiously standing by the tall skeleton. </p><p>Sans ambled over to the pair, hands brushing aside the lapels of the stuffy, intricately embellished jacket in favor of sticking his hands into his trouser pockets. As Sans approached, the cat monster was shooting him desperate, pleading looks as Papyrus continued to single-handedly lift crates from the bed of the cart.</p><p>“i don’t mean to <em> crate </em> a ruckus, pap, but we should probably let our pal do his job here.”</p><p>“NONSENSE!” Papyrus dismissed—large box balanced over the palm of his hand like a simple dinnerplate. “AS THE HEAD OF THE ROYAL GUARD’S TRAINEE COALITION, I MUST TAKE EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO DISPLAY MY CHIVALROUS VIRTUES!”</p><p>The cat monster’s ears folded back, looking as if he were about to cry; Sans knew too well that the monster Master of Ceremonies—Mettaton—would <em> not </em> be pleased to find any one employee not executing their job <em> exactly </em> as intended. Taking pity on the guy, Sans nodded his head towards the castle entrance.</p><p>“hey, i don’t wanna <em> box </em> in your ambitions, but isn’t being punctual part of that? i’m pretty sure i saw the rest of the guard already go inside.”</p><p>“OH <em> NO! </em>THE HUMAN ROYAL PARTY MUST BE AWAITING MY PRESENCE!” Papyrus then turned to Felix, swiftly folding in half as he bowed. “APOLOGIES DEAR SIR, BUT I AM NEEDED ELSEWHERE! PLEASE FEEL FREE TO CALL ON THE HELP OF THE NOT-QUITE-YET ROYAL GUARDSMAN PAPYRUS WHENEVER IN NEED!”</p><p>He then unceremoniously deposited the box into Felix’s paws, who immediately sagged under the weight. With a bouncing, triumphant “NYEHEHEH,” Papyrus bounded off towards the entrance, mixing in with the crowd of monsters and humans that were streaming into the castle.</p><p>“Thanks, little buddy,” the cat monster heaved, smoothing back his fur from its previous anxiety-ruffled disarray. He was—out of nowhere—suddenly smoking a rolled cigarette. “I appreciate the intent, but Mettaton would’ve had my pelt on his shoulders by dinnertime if he caught your brother helping out.”</p><p>“that’s rough, buddy,” Sans sympathized. “my bro is more chivalrous than the world can handle, sometimes. he’s the absolute best.”</p><p>The cat monster sent Sans a side eye, but knew better than to disagree. “sure is a very gallant monster indeed.”</p><p>Sans’s stare watched over Papyrus as he made his way into the castle. Dutifully, as always, he took a step to follow—<em> just </em>in case-</p><p>“Hey,” Felix called, pausing Sans’s exit. When Sans turned to look, Felix had the distant, aged look of a wisened general staring across a battlefield. “Why don’t you take it easy today, little buddy? Trust me—I’ve wasted all 19 years of my life working nonstop, and I can tell you—it’s good to take a break once in a while.”</p><p>Sans chuckled good naturedly, though his hands—still hidden among the depths of his pockets—tensed. “c’mon, y’know me; anyone could tell ya i’m the master of breaks.”</p><p>“Yeah, sure,” Felix said, disbelief—but not unkindly so—in his voice. “That being said, just remember—your brother will be fine. Everyone’s gonna be enjoying the celebrations, so maybe you should too, huh?”</p><p>Sans stared. Felix often considered himself to be far more battered and world-wise than a homebody attendant ought to be—but perhaps he was a bit more sharp than Sans gave him credit for. </p><p>He smiled, the grin <em> slightly </em> weak, but nonetheless thankful. “ya might be right on that one. same to you, pal; mettaton’s gonna be far too distracted to notice if you talk up a certain dessert maker.”</p><p>A visible, bright hue rose above his fur as he nodded. “Well… Maybe. See ya, Sans.”</p><p>Breathing out a laugh, Sans resumed his walk forward.</p><p>“see ya, pal.”</p><p>As Sans made his way up the steps of the palace he—for once—took the time to enjoy the warmth of the midday sun on the back of his skull. </p><p> </p><p>As per usual for the anniversaries, you and your royal party were escorted to the raised receiving area, poised high above the courtyard. There was a line of expertly carved thrones for your group of six—you seated at one end, the two kings and queens in the middle, and then Asriel at the other end. From your vantage point, you got a distant (but nonetheless lovely) view of the ground below as you waved and greeted the people. The inner, massive courtyard had been filled with entertainment of all forms—jugglers, and magicians, and vendors of various foods and wears—serving as a beautiful mix of monsters and humans, thriving together in peace. </p><p>
  <em> What a wonderous thing, to be part of that crowd… </em>
</p><p>Heaving a breath, you insisted upon the force put behind your smile as you continued your waves. <em> Remember, some of them are looking up here and likely wishing the same. Never forget what you’ve been given. </em></p><p>“-all seems to be clear so far, your highness!”</p><p>A familiar strident voice dragged you out of your thoughts. Looking over, to no surprise you saw Undyne, captain of the royal guard. She had thoroughly intimidated you upon first visit (and, if you were being honest, to some extent still did); although most of the monsters had been quite amicable after the forging of the peace treaty, it seems that Undyne had never <em> quite </em> let go of the losses of the past. While you by no means blamed her, it was a bit unsettling to be under the focus of her fiery, wearisome glare. </p><p>This had been somewhat cushioned by Sans, however. He had told you all of how she had taken his utter delight of a brother under his wing. She seemed to be well aware that Papyrus wouldn’t hurt a fly—but at the same time, refused to crush his dreams. Even if that softness would likely never be directed at <em> you </em> or your kind, it was still somewhat relieving to know she had true kindness in there, hidden somewhere deep underneath her armor.</p><p>“I, TOO, HAVE CHECKED EVERY NOOK AND CRANNY OF THIS PLACE! WE ARE UTTERLY SECURE; NOBODY WHO ISN’T SUPPOSED TO BE HERE WILL BE GETTING UP HERE!” </p><p>
  <em> Speak of the skeleton… </em>
</p><p>“That’s <em> great</em>, Pap, but I told you it was covered for today,” came the <em> slightly </em> terse voice of Undyne. </p><p>“NONSENSE! WHAT KIND OF ROYAL GUARDSMAN WOULD I BE IF I LEFT ANYTHING TO CHANCE?” Even sitting, you could only <em> barely </em> make out the head of the (quite tall himself) Papyrus over the horns of his massive king. “WHAT SHALL BE MY NEXT ASSIGNMENT, CAPTAIN?”</p><p>You leaned forward, trying to get a look at Undyne. “Why don’t you, uh…” </p><p>Her eyes darted around—before she pointedly looked to the courtyard below. “Why don’t you <em> guard </em> the festivities? YEAH! Make sure no one’s causing a ruckus down there! And make sure the vendors and entertainment is TOP-NOTCH!”</p><p>“WOWIE! MY FIRST OFFICIAL ASSIGNMENT. THAT SOUNDS LIKE VERY SERIOUS ROYAL GUARD BUSINESS INDEED! I WON’T LET YOU DOWN, UNDYNE!”</p><p>With that, Papyrus saluted, turning directly about-face before marching back into the castle. Breathing out the very <em> whisper </em> of a laugh—not wanting to spark the ire of Undyne—you turned back to the courtyard. Of course, if <em> Papyrus </em>was around, that meant…</p><p>Your eyes stared down to the courtyard, finding your mark within a matter of moments. <em> Bingo. </em></p><p>As expected, you spotted Sans among the crowd. Although being almost <em> certain </em> he wasn’t among the hired hands for entertainment tonight, he was currently performing small magic tricks for an enthralled gaggle of children. Judging by his tell-tale wink, and the distant chorus of chitters and groans from his audience, you could tell he was probably delivering some truly <em> terrible </em>jokes as well.</p><p>He appeared to be wearing a <em> very </em> dapper coat—oddly enough, the same royal blue as the color of your kingdom (though, perhaps, that was more to compliment the color of his natural magic more than any meaning of goodwill towards your land). Similar to his royal party, even from high above, you could tell the swirling stitching was expertly sewn. That was… <em> incredibly </em> unlike him.</p><p>
  <em> Hm. Papyrus must’ve crammed him into that. It looks… actually really nice on him, though. </em>
</p><p>You caught sight of his cheeky grin as he dazzled and teased the children. <em> But there, that’s where he looks most handsome. What a good soul indeed, taking delight in bringing simple joy to others- </em></p><p>“My dear,” came the voice of your King. Immediately you snapped to attention, looking over at him, stuffing your anxiety behind a curious, attentive look. “I don’t think I’ve ever quite seen you so happy. What’s on your mind?”</p><p>The echoes of a blush began to rise from your chest, but with a simple breath, you snuffed it out, instead looking back out to the grandeur of the mass of the crowd. Without a second thought—preservation so deeply ingrained your words were instinctual at this point—you gestured to the people below.</p><p>“I agree, father; I don’t think my heart has ever been quite so full as it is today. I feel so incredibly fortunate to witness this long-awaited event finally take place. This is a blessed celebration of peace, and to see the union of monsters and humans in all its glory is a magical thing indeed.”</p><p>Your Queen smiled at you graciously. “We couldn’t agree more ourselves.”</p><p>You noticed something… odd about her tone, but were unable to place it. You were unable to dwell on it long, however, as a rather<em> enthusiastic </em>voice cut in.</p><p>“Oh, <em> darlings!</em>” came the impossible-to-mistake voice of Mettaton. Leaning back in your chair, you saw he was joined by a much more sullen-looking Frederick. “How <em> wonderful </em> you all look! Now, it’s time to put your ensembles to good use—the inside festivities will soon begin!”</p><p>You resisted the urge to cringe, internally preparing yourself for all the blasted political smalltalk that was soon to bombard your peace.</p><p>Sneaking a glance back down to Sans, you found he had disappeared from view, his little audience now fully dispersed.</p><p>
  <em> Hm. Wonder where that bonehead went? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright, we begin to pick up the story!<br/>I'm super excited to get to some of the later tags on this! I have some chapters written out already, so please let me know if you'd like me to continue this silly thing of mine! &lt;3 Thank you for reading!<br/><br/><br/>Author’s historical fun fact corner: Did you know that Bingo was invented in the 1500s, and Bro was used as early as the 1800’s? I did not, but the things you research for fics never fails to be interesting.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. An Occasion to Celebrate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Let the celebrations begin!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“SANS! STOP MESSING WITH THAT JACKET!”</p><p>Sans cast his brother a <em> slightly </em> iresome look, unable to put any real force behind it despite how <em> deeply </em> uncomfortable he was. Papyrus had absolutely <em> insisted </em> upon the ostentatious coat, proclaiming that it was the “HEIGHT OF FASHION.”</p><p>“don’t mean to make such a <em> jacket</em>, pap, but this thing is <em> coating </em> into my shoulders. i thought you said i couldn’t wear the cloak because ‘they’re out of style?’”</p><p>“OF COURSE! NOBODY WHO IS <em> ANYBODY </em>WEARS CLOAKS ANYMORE. THEY’RE ENTIRELY PASSÉ.”</p><p>Sans pointedly looked up to the balcony where the King sat. In a cloak. Along with his son, the prince, who was also wearing a cloak.</p><p>Papyrus followed his look, and a bead of anxious sweat formed on his brow. “Y-YES, WELL, I DO SUPPOSE PASSÉ EVENTUALLY BECOMES VINTAGE!”</p><p>When Sans offered no reply, Papyrus cowed. He knew his brother hated such restrictive garments, but it was for the best! The brother of a famous not-quite-yet royal guardsman <em> had </em> to look proper on such a momentous occasion! </p><p><em> Plus</em>, as much as Sans thought no one noticed, The Great Papyrus’s vigilant, observant eyes (<em>one of the reasons he was obviously suited to be the perfect royal guardsman</em>), had deduced that there <em> might </em> be someone Sans wanted to impress! And, as the sage Mettaton always espoused—‘<em>you must dress to impress!’ </em></p><p>Still, Papyrus <em> did </em> feel a bit of regret at seeing his brother so uncomfortable. “I <em> GUESS </em> CLOAKS ARE DECENT ENOUGH. PERHAPS WE COULD…”</p><p>Papyrus’s words died on his teeth, however, as Sans gave one of those <em> terribly </em> elated grins. Papyrus watched as Sans reached into his jacket pocket, as if going to pull out a kerchief—but instead, pulled out a full, unfolded cloak. Slipping off the jacket, Papyrus saw that Sans was <em> not </em>wearing the masterfully designed shirt he had selected out for his shorter brother—but, instead, was dressed in his normal garb.</p><p>Papyrus gave his brother a deadpan, unamused stare before spinning on his heel and walking wordlessly in the other direction.</p><p>
  <em> I GIVE UP. THERE IS NO HELP FOR YOU, BROTHER. </em>
</p><p>Sans chuckled as he watched his brother walk off, eyes trailing after him as he somewhat disappeared (never <em> quite </em> fully, as he stood several heads above most other humans and monsters) into the crowd. As usual, Sans felt the immediate urge to follow, wanting to ensure he could stay close by…</p><p>He looked up at the balcony. </p><p>
  <em> alright, muttontrousers. let’s see if you’re right on this one. </em>
</p><p>Soul pushing against the conditioned path of his feet, he forced himself to walk in the opposite direction, moving into the main hall of the castle. </p><p> </p><p>The royal party had been chaperoned into the main banquet hall with the typical amount of pomp and circumstance. The hall was a massive, almost church-like space, with ornate carvings in the wooden ceiling—an earnest attribution to the gods of feast in prayer for good meals, drink, and a lack of food poisoning. There was even a second floor internal balcony—such as where a choir of overflow of a congregation might sit—for the express purpose of stuffing all the more mouths during the celebration. </p><p>However—blasphemously—there were currently no tables or sitting areas placed out. The massive space had been fully cleared to accommodate as many guests as possible, save for the raised platform where several thrones sat—a sanctuary for the altar of the royal families. </p><p>Once properly escorted to your seats of honor, the main doors of the hall were thrown open—and near-instantly, a mass of nobles and commoners alike flooded into the space. Within moments, everywhere from the massive floor to the bannisters were cushioned with people—the only real space made was for the glorious attendants who came round with trays of drinks. In the center of it all, a certain section (leading down from the throne area to the center of the hall) was sectioned off—reserved for the Kings’ and Queens’ first dance. </p><p>When the room was successfully packed—with the number of guests, it took mere moments—the speeches began. </p><p>The two Kings—having well learned to keep those in expectancy of entertainment waiting shortly—kept their spiels mercifully brief. Your King spoke of the wars of the past, the terrors that both sides had endured over senseless issues. Their King spoke of the wonders that so many years of enduring peace had brought, and (with a fond look to you and Asriel), the promise of an ever brightening future that lay ahead. You were two nations, now blessed as one thriving society.</p><p>The people cheered—likely partially at the message, and partly at the conclusion of the speech itself—and a gaggle of musicians were escorted through the crowd to the open area in the center. Though your face remained unmoved, you couldn’t tear your stare away from the instruments—especially that of the violin—as they congregated at one end of the circle, admiration and envy alike swirling within you. Niccolò had at least <em> allowed </em> you to learn how to play, but to be able to join others and perform…</p><p>It had been out of the question. Fine as a hobby, but <em> royalty </em> was your profession. Plus, as a royal, you had to be <em> perfect </em>in everything you did—and what if you messed up? Niccolò had advised that it was a chance better not taken.</p><p>You stared at the violin—it was a gorgeous model—and sighed internally, forcing your eyes to move back to the Kings and Queens, knowing that was where your focus was <em> supposed </em>to be.</p><p><em> Ah, well. Maybe next life ‘round. </em> </p><p>As per the traditions of years past, there would be two initial dances—first, each King with their own Queen, and then a second with partners swapped—a gesture of trust with what mattered most between the heads of the two nations.</p><p>The two couples rose, taking equal strides out to the center of the dance hall. Although you had watched the display countless times before—you had to admit, it was still a sight to see just as every time before it.</p><p>Eyes straying from the main event, you took a moment to survey the crowd—monsters and humans, mixing without a second thought or concern of danger. You realized—after so many years of expeditions—you recognized just as many monsters as you did humans in the crowd. Not <em> everyone </em>, of course—but members of the bunny clan, the illustrious royal scientist Alphys, the owner of the local tavern, the owner of the sweets shop…</p><p>A small, pudgy imp-like monster caught your eye, positioned at the far end of the crowd. He was hopping from foot to foot, clapping—seemingly not in time with the beat—though you couldn’t hear it over the instrumentation. This alone wouldn’t have given you much notice—a few drinks in and most would lose their timing—but it was what he was <em> wearing </em> that kept your focus<em>. </em></p><p><em> Why is he in a jester’s outfit? Sans doesn’t even wear that unless he’s trying to annoy Papyrus. And I thought Sans </em> <b> <em>was </em> </b> <em> the only monster fool- </em></p><p>“heya, your highness.”</p><p>Despite your heart’s procession grinding to a momentary halt inside your chest, after <em> years </em> of attempted jumpscares you didn’t move in the slightest when hearing Sans’s low voice chuckle into your ear. Instead, you merely nodded, casting a wave off to the guards that were likely approaching at the sudden, unannounced intrusion.</p><p>When you spoke, your tone was thoroughly cool and unaffected. “Welcome, Sans. How were your travels with the royal procession?”</p><p>Undeterred by your lack of response, he stepped out in front of you, grin as bright as ever. “oh, y’know, a bit of a <em> royal </em>pain, but certainly worth it.”</p><p>You cast your eyes to him, your face unmoving. His grin only stretched further—either amused at your lack of response, or not needing to hear your laugh, you weren’t sure. </p><p>
  <em> That absolute bastard; I’ll have to remember to smack him later. </em>
</p><p>“ya look nice,” he complimented idly, sticking his hands in his pockets. You nodded in simple, neutral thanks.</p><p>“You as well. Though I do recall you wearing a rather dashing coat earlier; what happened to that?”</p><p>Sans grimaced, and at <em> this</em>, it became nearly impossible to hold back your smile. “<em>coatincidentally </em>missing now. luckily, i came prepared with a replacement.”</p><p>“Mm. So <em> fortunate </em> that you thought ahead.” Your eyes then shifted to the guards, checking that they were a fair distance away before leaning in, lowering your voice as you spoke again. “...Just <em> how </em>pissed was Papyrus?”</p><p>Sans grinned again, one of those true smiles. “eh, give it about a six out of ten. his expression was <em> nearly </em> enough to rival yours, though.”</p><p>“I bet,” you hummed, leaning back in your chair. You then eyed him—letting the smallest trace of fondness into your expression; anyone more than a few feet away would have likely mistaken it for a polite smile. “Although it <em> was </em> rather fetching, I suppose you look even nicer when comfortable in your own element.”</p><p>For once, Sans surprised you: a dull, barely-there hue—the same color as his typical magic, and your clothes—dusted the crest of his cheekbones. His expression, however, didn’t falter as he gazed back at you, leaning a <em>smidge</em> closer in—<em>just</em> past the point of entering personal, polite space. His grin curled slightly into the edge of a smirk as he chuckled, voice falling in volume and octave. “i could say the same for you, your highness.”</p><p>This time—despite trying <em> much </em>harder—you were only able to stifle your blush with limited success. </p><p>
  <em>That absolute ninny is just trying to get my goat. Damn you, Sans.</em>
</p><p>If Sans noticed your fluster, he at <em>least</em> spared you from mentioning it. Instead, he straightened, smile back to that congenial, friendly grin. He pointedly looked down to your garb, and then his own.</p><p>“funny that we match, huh?”</p><p>You looked beneath his cloak; it was a similar blue to the jacket he had been wearing—indeed, just about the same shade that you wore. Though you didn’t smile, there was a bit of mischievous, joking look as your gaze rose to meet his. “Pledging your allegiance to the kingdom of humans, are you?”</p><p>“something like that,” he grinned. He then nodded towards your clothes. “that’s madame hare’s work, yeah? <em> seams </em> like <em> somebunny </em> might be trading kingdoms themselves.”</p><p>You invoked the bitter caricature of Papyrus as you deadpanned at him. As he chuckled, you blew out a sigh, looking back out to the crowd. “I thought it might be a nice gesture for the event; a symbol of monster and humankind together.”</p><p>“i guess great minds think alike after all,” he said, winking. “gotta admit, though: that <em> particular </em> blue looks pretty nice on ya.”</p><p>For a brief moment, your mask <em> nearly </em> slipped; a choking cough rising and dying in your throat. Carefully, you rearranged your expression, though allowed some verbal glare to slip into your tone. </p><p>“Very kind of you to say. But, don’t allow me to keep you; surely you have to be providing entertainment somewhere?”</p><p>“oh, i’d say there’s plenty of entertainment right here.”</p><p>
  <em> That’s it. I don’t know if you can hang a skeleton, but I’m going to find out. </em>
</p><p>Thankfully for Sans’s neck, the two royal couples then approached, the music fading from the current arrangement as the song ended. Sans—having at least a <em> bit </em> of respect somewhere within—bowed in greeting. Your King and Queen nodded in return—though you felt the action was more automatic than in actual acknowledgement, their focus immediately turning to you.</p><p>“Dear,” the Queen said, “why don’t you have a dance with Asriel? I think it would be a nice gesture to the future peace of our kingdoms.” You nodded dutifully, looking over to Asriel—it seemed his parents had suggested the same, as he had already risen from his seat. You followed suit, though paused to address Sans.</p><p>“You’ll have to excuse me, sir. It was pleasant to see and speak with you again.”</p><p>Sans made a show of bowing, though you knew the grin he held betrayed any real ceremony behind it. “pleasure’s all mine, your highness.”</p><p> </p><p>You turned away from Sans, not giving him the satisfaction of watching his theatrical “pop out of existence” routine. Instead, you turned your focus onto the monster prince.</p><p>Asriel approached you tentatively, appearing as timid as ever. It was far from the first time the two of you had been corralled together on the dancefloor; it almost <em> always </em> happened during these celebrations. He was actually a fine dancer (<em>you suspected the distraction of movement helped his fretting mind</em>), and you often found it to be a pleasant experience. Without a trace of hesitation, you placed your hand in his as soon as he offered it, your smile gently encouraging.</p><p>He led you out to the center of the dance floor—as per the standard decorum, you were the only two out there; the crowd was expected to wait until after the royalty had finished <em> all </em> of their initial dances to join in. Although you felt that was a bit pretentious, the onlookers thankfully didn’t seem to mind. All of the gazes that followed you seem to be enraptured and eager to witness this symbol of unity between nations: heads were peaking around other heads, little children urged to the front of the crowd or hoisted onto shoulders to see.</p><p>Knowing that the attention was likely a weakness for your partner, you shifted yourself to be at the forefront of his vision as he assumed the proper stance—one furred hand holding yours, the other at your back. </p><p>“It’s always a delight to dance with you, Asriel; it seems that you and I both have finally rid ourselves of stumbling feet after all these years.”</p><p>The music began in a slow, waltzing pace, and you allowed Asriel to take the lead, following his movements. He let out something between a bleat and a laugh, then immediately flushed at the noise—before quickly brushing past it. “Boy, we definitely had our initial blunders, that’s for sure. And… maybe a few more than just the initial ones.”</p><p>You laughed, head tilting as you grinned at him conspiritavely. “Remember when we <em> actually </em> got your father mad for once?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah, I remember,” Asriel grimaced. “I felt so bad. Golly, who would think that knocking over a simple candle would do that much damage?”</p><p>“I really think he was <em> most </em>upset about having to regrow his beard.”</p><p>You kept Asriel distracted with idle chatter throughout the dance—and, by the end of it, he did seem far more at ease than when he started. As he led you off the dance floor, his smile <em> finally </em>seemed sincere.</p><p>With a grand announcement from Mettaton, the <em> real </em> festivities finally began as soon as you were seated. Members of your court—old and young alike—took to the dance floor, as well as whatever “commoners” the massive hall was allowed to fit. Even from your seat, you could hear the cheers and jeers from those who <em> didn’t </em> manage to make it inside; gathering out in the chilly courtyard in force, your kingdom had given a <em> special </em> allocation of beer and other spirits to keep those outside toasty (<em>and toasted)</em>.</p><p>The initial celebration went on for a few hours, giving the guests ample time to work up an appetite before the feast. Your time (as per usual) was spent making conversation—both polite and political—to several of the visiting dignitaries. </p><p>Although it was never something approaching <em> fun </em> , you did note that your evening was much more pleasant than normal. The absolute <em> bane </em> of your existence—far more than pointless smalltalk, or sidestepping political grime, or enduring those <em> horrid </em> stories of past battles won and lost—were fending off potential suitors. Curiously (but certainly not unwelcomely), it seemed Frederick had <em> finally </em> given into your plea to let you enjoy the celebrations without having to decline every lord or lady or noble that thought they might have a <em> chance </em>at a royal position. Despite taking no pleasure in rejection (even for the most annoyingly persistent of individuals), you couldn’t help the deep sense of satisfaction at seeing the guards turn several seekers away.</p><p>It was, almost certainly, a short reprieve—likely only for tonight, with such a momentous anniversary celebration—but you savored every moment of it.</p><p><em> I </em> <b> <em>knew</em> </b> <em> this was going to be a good night. </em></p><p> </p><p>Once the murmurs of excited chatter began to give way to claims of hunger, the feast was called into action. Attendants guided the royal party first (of course) to the head table, the massive slab of  dark wood carved into a long-stretching horseshoe. It was large enough to seat <em> all </em> of you, plus several heads of staff from both kingdoms, as well as several members of court. The set of Kings and Queens were, of course, seated in the center of the table—with you and Asriel on either side of them. The rest of those invited at the table of honor were otherwise allowed to pick their seats as they pleased, and eager guests immediately began to make their moves on their seat of choice.</p><p>As expected, you saw both Niccolò and Frederick make a speedy charge (<em>as fast as was respectable, anyway) </em> for the seat next to yours—wanting to be as close to the king and queen as possible—but then, you watched them both pause. The sound of the chair next to you scratching back slightly (internally) startled you, and you turned and looked-</p><p>
  <em> Sans? </em>
</p><p>“this chair taken, your highness?”</p><p>Sans often pestered you through all sorts of meals and events—though typically from a distance, never <em> quite </em> so bold as to sit directly by your side.</p><p>“I don’t suppose so,” you said neutrally, just the <em> slightest </em> bit of worry clenching your stomach as he sat down. Niccolò—the quicker of the two on the uptake—stole the chair next to Sans, and then poor Frederick in last. Refusing to even <em> border </em> on the impolite, you decided to keep your message of <em> what the hell, Sans </em> delicately hidden. “Where is your brother this evening? I regret not being able to greet him yet.”</p><p>“oh, he’s sitting with the prestigious monster royal guard tonight. he’s right over there, actually.”</p><p>You looked across the way—seated next to Asriel was Undyne, and seated next to <em> her </em> was an <em> especially </em>enthusiastic Papyrus (and, considering Papyrus’s natural state was enthusiasm, this was quite a show indeed). Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Sans give his brother a wave—who caught it, practically vibrating at Temmie levels of excitement as he waved back (and nearly knocking over a waiter walking behind him in the process).</p><p>“Oh, how wonderful for him.” <em> And how troublesome for me. </em></p><p>“ya got that right, your highness. he really is the best.”</p><p>Annoyance slightly abated by his sentimentality, you nodded in sincere agreement. “One of the very brightest souls I have ever met.”</p><p>Sans turned to you more fully, raising his browbone incredulously; you had never come close to disagreeing with the sentiment in all the times (<em>which were many</em>) that he’d said it. “<em>one </em>of?”</p><p>You shot him the briefest of meaningful looks—before Niccolò spoke, leaning over the table.</p><p>“I believe the inference was the Queen and Kings are the brightest of all, lad,” he said. Sans’s expression flickered on something bordering belligerent before he turned to Niccolò, his face back to an easy grin.</p><p>“oh, of course, pal.” Though his voice was congenial, there were enough hints of sarcasm dropped in that Niccolò’s eyes became uncertain. You nudged Sans harshly with your leg—not enough to make him yelp, but enough to send a message.</p><p>This, of course, was a mistake.</p><p>As if you’d broken some sort of touch barrier, Sans began to entertain the table with jokes as the food was spread out—and, <em> each and every time </em> he did, he’d nudge your foot under the table with his own. Never harshly—just <em> incessantly. </em>Unfortunately, he had quite a selection to choose from. </p><p>All manner of food was placed down by waiters along the table: various game from the sprawling forest that lay both west and east of the castle walls, seafood hoisted up directly from the fishing dories that sat in the ocean below the castle’s steep cliff in the south, and various vegetation from the sprawling farmland that laid north of the castle. In a gesture of collaboration, the monster chefs had aided in imbibing all of the foods with enough magic to satiate the most hungry or energy-spent of monsters.</p><p>Sans commented on every. Single. <em> One. </em></p><p><em> “lettuce </em> (nudge) not speak <em> ingest </em> (nudge); <em> meat</em>ing (nudge) you all has been a<em>maize</em>ing (nudge).” He then gestured to you, winking. “especially <em> stew </em> (nudge) your highness; <em> dough </em> (nudge) you’re a bit a<em>loaf </em> (nudge)<em>, olive </em> (nudge) <em> grating </em> (nudge) to spend this <em> munch </em> (nudge) <em> thyme </em> (nudge) with <em> ewe </em> (nudge).</p><p>Though your face remained unmoved, inside, you were <em> absolutely </em> plotting murder. Which would be legal, because you were royalty.</p><p>
  <em> Why take a chance with the hanging? Let’s just have him beheaded instead.  </em>
</p><p>Discreetly, you slid a spoon into the palm of your hand, before bringing your hand down beneath the table. You saw Sans’s chest rise—likely taking a breath to deliver some other horrid pun—and you sprung your spoon, pulling it back before thwacking it against his femur.</p><p>He let out a startled, choking sound, before covering it up with a cough. </p><p>“Are you alright, lad?” Niccolò asked, patting Sans roughly on the back.</p><p>“Goodness. Perhaps it’s a sign he should eat <em> sans </em>the talking.”</p><p>You could <em> feel </em> Sans’s stare on you—but refused to look at him, picking up a rather fine goblet of wine and sipping at it as you nudged <em> him</em>. </p><p>Hiding your satisfied smile in that moment was, by far, the <em> hardest </em>thing you ever had to do. </p><p> </p><p>The rest of the meal was spent with much merriment; though Sans <em> did </em> keep up his awful puns, they were thankfully much less frequent, and the playful nudges between you two were saved for the <em> especially </em> awful ones. By the time the desserts rolled out (<em>your ultimate weakness)</em>, you felt practically bubbly inside—on more than one occasion, you had to hide your laugh behind a bite of food or a cough.</p><p>A part of you kept saying you felt like a kid again, but you couldn’t remember a time as a child you actually felt this way. It was just pure, simple <em> fun.  </em></p><p>By the time your belly was full, mainly stuffed on desserts (<em>you’d come to regret that later when obliged to more dancing after the feast, but—ah, well, what the hell)</em>, you leaned back in your chair, thoroughly relaxed and contented. As the waiters began to clear the table, Sans turned and looked your way—before his grin widened. He grabbed a plate of chocolate covered strawberries (your <em> favorite</em>) and leaned over to you with a wink; you readied yourself for some kind of strawberry pun-</p><p>“you’re glowing, your highness. it’s a pretty nice look on ya.”</p><p>Your face instantly warred within itself, blood simultaneously trying to drain from your face and rise to your cheeks. You went to sit up straight—but then felt a boney hand place on yours beneath the table.</p><p>“hey, nobody’s gonna notice—they’re all too sloshed now. why don’t ya take a break for a night?”</p><p>You hesitated, looking back at Sans. He… he didn’t get it. You <em> couldn’t </em>just… could you?</p><p>“Frederick!” </p><p>You jumped, startled—before quickly pulling yourself together, hand automatically retracting from Sans’s as you recognized the voice of your King. Frederick immediately stood out of his seat and to attention. “I think now is the time.” </p><p>Frederick nodded, before signaling to a servant—who then rushed over to the musicians. The music died out before an official-sounding trumpet was played.</p><p>You assumed this was the signal that the feast had ended and that it was time to get back to entertainment. You prepared to stand-</p><p>“Excuse me, everyone!” your King said, standing up and tapping on a glass. Asgore stood as well, and the two clapped backs in a sign of companionship. “We have an announcement to make!”</p><p>
  <em> More speeches? Well, I suppose people won’t mind now that they’re fed… Smart move. </em>
</p><p>“As you know, our nations have been divided since time immemorial,” Asgore began. “Even with the peace, we still stand as a divided land—separate, but coexisting. It has always been our hope for the future that we would be able to further integrate our societies into one, in a way that would not lose the identity of either.”</p><p>Your King nodded, continuing. “We assumed this would not be possible during our lifetime—a mere distant hope. However...” </p><p>
  <em> However? Are we merging nations? How have I not heard this? </em>
</p><p>“It is with great joy that we announce that the magnificent monster Prince has proposed to our dear heir—who, of course, accepted.”</p><p>…<b><em>What?</em> </b></p><p>“Our two nations will finally be joined—through holy matrimony!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Many thanks to my dear friend <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIzo/pseuds/LadyIzo">LiadyIzo</a> for her suggestion on the coat scene with Sans and Papyrus. Just absolutely magical. (And for the help with the outfits, as well as the idea for a special guest inclusion)!</p><p>I hope you guys liked the chapter! I’m so excited for this fic, and I hope you guys are too! \(*´∇｀*).  Things are just starting to ramp up—the next chapter should be out soon! I love you all, and thank you for your support!</p><p>You can find me on tumblr <a>here</a>, if you like!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. For Ellie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Prepare your britches (for tropes upon tropes).</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter includes two pieces of music. I know it can be bothersome to bring up music while reading, but I still highly recommend it for the full effect.<br/><br/>I linked the music to spotify in the chapter when it’s supposed to start, but you can you also can find it here in advance:<br/><br/>First song:<br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3XDS6PePLuyof5AzGsLqQ7?si=bwkjtDxfS0KKJdIRcPDyWw">Spotify</a> <a href="https://youtu.be/4rzj5K8FSqI">Youtube</a> </p><p>Second song:<br/><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2VFxfYbWaX5hE7xKPAbEW9?si=VBrS9a09Sk6IbJYer08nwQ">Spotify</a> <a href="https://youtu.be/Nft7tiy5E-w">Youtube</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sans was not, on the whole, a jealous soul.</p><p>He never fought with Papyrus; no concerns on giving his bro the limelight whenever possible. He already had the best job, in his opinion, in the whole kingdom—getting paid to make jokes and play tricks, <em> without </em> having to worry about repercussions (<em>within reason, of course—even Asgore and Toriel had their limits)</em>—and never sought more power than he had<em>. </em> His home may have not been the finest, but it was a safe place for him and Papyrus with food always stocked—and, for Sans, that was more than enough. </p><p>No, he was not the jealous type. Even while watching his dear friend—year after year—get approached by suitors that were <em> exactly </em> what an heir would consider an ideal partner. Even as he sat several seats to the side of you—year after year—being forced to listen to all kinds of political figures attempt to flirt with you. <em> Even </em> when—<em>year after year</em>—you danced with Asriel: getting closer over time until you were both looking like the perfect couple in one another’s arms, gracefully moving and chatting and <em> smiling </em> at one another.</p><p>No, Sans never once felt jealous. You might have been smiling—but it wasn’t one of those true smiles. </p><p>And that was enough.</p><p> </p><p>When the King made that announcement… Sans really didn’t feel anything at all. </p><p>He supposed there was shock, but the shock merely numbed him to all else that he likely <em> should </em> have felt—the disbelief, the confusion, and the <em> nastier </em> feelings.</p><p>But jealousy? Likely not. You two <em> were </em>perfect for one another; it was merely a matter of time. What had he expected? </p><p>Admittedly, it would have been nice if you had <em> told </em> him—given him at <em> least </em> some time to arrange his own mask. Maybe you hadn’t had time—or maybe you assumed he knew all along that this was what was destined to happen.</p><p>He looked over to you-</p><p>And, for the very first time since he met you, he saw your mask slip <em> in public</em>.</p><p>And he <em> realized:</em></p><p>
  <em> ...they really didn’t tell ya either, huh? guess this is news to everyone. </em>
</p><p>Not knowing what else to do, Sans reached out under the table—placing his hand over yours and giving a squeeze.</p><p>This seemed to bring you back to earth—you jolted slightly, then quickly dragged your face into a more pleasant arrangement. Your hand shifted underneath Sans’s palm—but instead of pulling away as Sans expected—you turned yours over, then <em> gripped </em>his hand tightly in return. </p><p>You’d <em>never</em> broken in front of anyone other than Sans in all the years he’d known you. But—as if your soul was dangling there in front of him, plain as day—Sans could <em>feel</em> you leaning over the edge of something <em>far</em> more than a slip. </p><p>If he concentrated, he could sense the rush of pure and utter <em> panic</em>—horrified, and desperate, and soundlessly <em> screaming </em> for help<em>- </em></p><p>As a waiter passed behind you with a tray of wine glasses, Sans finally knew just how to put his pranks to some good, proper use. </p><p>With silent apologies to the waiter, he merely shifted the gravity of the tray slightly-</p><p>-And over you the contents went.</p><p>
  <em> it’s too bad; blue really did look nice on ya. </em>
</p><p>The waiter immediately began to apologize profusely, but—whether you realized it was part of a plan, or simple good graces—you immediately brushed it off as a trifle, easily forgivable accident. You attempted to refuse all offers for help—but your attendants stubbornly fussed at you as you swiftly left the dining hall, presumably to aid you with cleaning and a change of clothes.</p><p>Sans watched you go—keeping his own mask of a grin up as you disappeared out of sight.</p><p>
  <em> ...what a night. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>The seat next to Sans was taken away to be cleaned—and the clever Frederick swiftly inserted himself in its place, leveraging his way into the conversation by means of wedding planning discourse. Sans merely sat silently by himself as the feast proceeded, boney digits tapping on the table as he waited for your eventual return-</p><p>But you never came out.</p><p>After the feast was done, the pendulum of the night swung back to dancing and general comradery; most of the crowd was either too alcohol-dazed or food-full to do anything akin to proper dancing. Eventually—as even the most practiced of drinkers began to flag under the blanket of booze—the night began to draw to a close.</p><p>And you <em> still </em> hadn’t returned.</p><p> </p><p>Sans cast a look at his brother. He was currently in the middle of the pack of guards, keeping them thoroughly enraptured (and salivating) as he produced several floating bones in display. He seemed to be having a grand old time, and there was certainly no danger here…</p><p>Which meant it was time—with any luck—to find where the human’s royal heir was hiding.</p><p>Fortunately for Sans, this wasn’t a terribly difficult task; he always seemed to have a sixth sense about where you might be.</p><p>It took a few tries this time; there was no trace of where you’d been, and you certainly weren’t hiding in any of your typical haunts. It was only when he followed his (proverbial) gut that he found you—unusually—outside.</p><p> </p><p>You were (rather oddly) standing on a hill just outside the castle walls. How had you made it out here alone? Typically—even at your most elusive—you never seemed to make it outside without <em> some </em> guard or staff spotting you. </p><p>
  <em> just about everyone’s too sloshed to notice at this point, i guess. </em>
</p><p>Sans did his best to casually amble up to you, strolling up the hill as the chilly fall air gently pushed and tugged at his cloak. The life from the castle could still be felt out here; distantly, he could hear the intoxicated jeers and swirling music call from the outside celebration, not too far off. At this distance, it seemed like the ambient noise of the natural world <em> just </em> began to push back against those of the castle: there was the creeping chatter of bugs and late-night birds, the winds rustling the grand trees of the forest, and even <em> (if one strained enough) </em> the distant crashing of ocean waves against rocks. </p><p>As Sans neared, he could see you were in rather ordinary clothes now; clearly without any intention to return to the festivities. You were standing at the crest of the hill—not quite looking at the sky, but rather off to the side—as if seeing something unseen. Just as Sans was about to announce his presence, you spoke out, though didn’t turn his way. </p><p>“They have plans to build an observatory here, did you know that?” Your voice was light, conversational—thoroughly and utterly pleasant. Sans stuck his hands in his pockets, stepping slightly closer to you—joining you in looking up at the imaginary structure.</p><p>“sounds like my kinda project.”</p><p>“I thought as such. I’ve been a rather big nuisance to poor Niccolò in pushing it forward as of late.” There was no waver in your voice, no sign of distress—merely as easy in conversation as had in the banquet hall. “And down there—they’re going to extend the gardens quite extensively, and I even heard the King have talks of making a zoo.”</p><p>You could say whatever you like—make your voice as steady and sure as you wanted…</p><p>But you couldn’t fool Sans.</p><p>“your highness…”</p><p>“We’ve had peace for so long, the castle is beginning to turn into a palace. There are fresh, young adults now that only know of war as a concept—a mere bedtime story, or fantastical nightmare.”</p><p>“kid-”</p><p>“I wonder what it’ll be like to have <em> no one </em> remember firsthand. It would be an interesting and wonderful sight to have it be a memory of a memory, don’t you think-”</p><p>“<em>hey</em>.”</p><p>You turned, finally looking at Sans. He expected to see that same flash of fear, and dismay, and <em> drowning </em> in your eyes that you had during the announcement…</p><p>But there was nothing there. The mask was up again—even <em> here</em>, with <em> him</em>, <em> alone</em>.</p><p>
  <em> don’t do this.  </em>
</p><p>Sans frowned, dropping his own mask—a gesture to say he was laying his armor down in this fight. That it was safe for you to do the same.</p><p>Your expression, however, didn’t budge. “Yes, Sans?”</p><p>Sans—for all his excuses, and breaks, and supposed laziness—refused to sit and watch you drown.</p><p>
  <em> how do i do this? how do i get ya back, kid? </em>
</p><p>When the sounds of the night began to fill that waiting, expectant silence—Sans listened to the whispering hint from the universe, and got his answer. </p><p> </p><p>He decided to offer you a hand—both figuratively and literally—stretching out an open palm in invitation.</p><p> </p><p>“how’s about a dance? can’t say i normally ever get the opportunity in there.”</p><p>Sans saw a flicker of something in your eyes—but it was quickly snuffed out, your hands unmoving.</p><p>“I’m afraid that’s not in line with propriety now that I’m betrothed.”</p><p>Sans didn’t drop his hand—instead, giving you a friendly wink. “c’mon, i’m a royal jester, right? i get a pass on propriety. it’s practically a law.”</p><p>This time, there was more than just a flash of <em> you </em> in there, though hesitance still clouded your eyes. Sans wiggled the fingers of his invitation at you, eyelights trying to push past the haze to meet the real you within.</p><p>“hey, it’s my job to cheer ya up—and if anything will make ya laugh, it’ll be my two left feet.”</p><p>There was a moment of indecision that stretched for so long, Sans was beginning to worry he misread that there was any bit of you to pull back out-</p><p>-But then, you reached out and placed your hand in his.</p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>
  <em> there ya are, kid. i gotcha.  </em>
</p><p>As if physically pulling you out of that dark place, Sans gently tugged on your hand until you came to meet him. He raised your joined hands, placing his free hand on your back as you placed yours on his shoulder. It took Sans a moment—straining to hear the music—but, as soon as he picked up the proper timing, <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/3XDS6PePLuyof5AzGsLqQ7?si=U9rHQz6WSp6B8O2N2UedqQ">he began to lead you in the dance</a>.</p><p>The music was currently in its slower phase: the pace was wandering, a sense of sorrowful wistfulness and longing meandering into the night. Your face was still decidedly neutral—but Sans could at least spy the slightest form of churning thought behind your eyes.</p><p>This was the closest Sans had ever gotten to you—but also, perhaps, the farthest away you’d been since that night in the kitchen.</p><p>“say,” he said conversationally, recognizing the tune, “this is your favorite song, huh? beatoven’s <em> for ellie</em><em>?” </em></p><p>You didn’t smile, or chide him for the mispronunciation—but at least, finally, you spoke. </p><p>“Something like that,” you said, your eyes cast to the side—not meeting his glance. “I think… I think you may be the only person who knows that.”</p><p>Refusing to let you get away with just that, Sans pushed on—knowing <em> exactly </em> what would get you talking. It was the only subject that seemed to really bring out the <em> you </em> inside, whether you noticed it or not.</p><p>“what do ya think the song means?”</p><p>“Well, it’s rumored the composer wrote it for someone who turned down his marriage proposal—but he likely wrote it before that happened.” Thoughtfulness taking over your expression, you squinted your eyes, as if trying to hear a whisper of a story in the instruments themselves.</p><p>“I think… it sounds at first like it has a sorrowful and wanting ache—like someone who’s lost, seeking something that they’re not even sure what it is. The first section is a bit drawn out, like it’s an entire lifetime—or perhaps just a long time—that this person has been searching. But then it rises out of the melancholy—like that ache has found some sort of direction. At the faster sections, it feels like absolute joy; the elation of the company—er, of that want being resolved.” </p><p>Sans felt his soul thump gently in his chest—you closed your eyes as he led you, your hand tightening against his hold. You were entrusting him to lead you in the steps blindly, and you took a deep breath as you collected yourself—perhaps to attempt to reign back in on the parts of you that were showing. He allowed you to sit in this silence for some time as the steady pace continued, trying to find that delicate balance between <em> processing </em> and overwhelm.</p><p>The music sped up as that joyful, elated section began—and Sans immediately sped up his pace. Your eyes flashed open as he purposefully twirled with you—his grin wide as you looked upon him with surprise. </p><p>“Sans-”</p><p>“hey, what’s beethoven’s favorite fruit?” He—knowing you’d likely attempt to stop the joke—didn’t give you enough pause to answer. “<em>ba-nan-nan-naaa, ba-nan-nan-naaa</em>.”</p><p>“<em>Sans!” </em></p><p>Sans’s grinned only widened—now tinging with a bit of satisfaction. “now, c’mon, there’s a few more parts to the song, yeah? don’t leave me hanging. what next?”</p><p>He allowed you two to continue at the easy pace as that wandering refrain came back. You narrowed your eyes at him for a beat—though there was confusion mixed among it, so you clearly hadn’t yet figured out his motivations—but then continued. </p><p>“Alright, well… The first section comes back again—though not quite as slow as the first time—which likely means they’re separated, or, perhaps, are unsure of how to continue.” </p><p>Sans didn’t miss your slip of <em> they</em>, but didn’t draw your attention to it.  Listening closer, you hesitated. “I can hear... small pieces of joy though, still, mixed into it. Perhaps it's a mixture of the two: sparks of happiness, with deep longing in between.”</p><p>He could see the thoughts begin to darken behind your eyes, and prompted you again. “and then?”</p><p>“Next it will get to a tense, worrisome section—getting more and more fraught, but also rising in tone, like they keep attempting to join and rise above it. And just when it seems like they’re <em> perhaps </em> coming out on top—there’s an almost dizzying level of cascading notes; perhaps some sort of terrible, overwhelming issue that speeds out of control, or that they’ve been separated and are now all alone-”</p><p>The section began, and Sans once more picked up the pace. He felt your grip tighten on his shoulder—and he pressed upon your back in return, bringing you closer to him, his hands steady and ensuring safety in his movements. To Sans’s surprise, you stepped even nearer to him, though didn’t look him in the face. Even without your telling gaze, he could see the signs of pain in your expression—that barrier cracking once more. </p><p>
  <em> alone, huh? is that how ya feel? c’mon, kid, don’t ya know i’m right here?  </em>
</p><p>You were still clearly fighting against it; your hold on him wavered, alternating between cold rigidity and a dearly held grasp. Clearly—as alone as you felt—you were trying to resist the want to give into this moment of connection.</p><p>
  <em> stubborn as always, huh? well, i’m not giving up either. </em>
</p><p>Though he spun you around again at the crest of the swirl of notes, it seemed no amount of movement would shake you from the full realization of your grief. Your breath was heavy—but not in a way that spoke of physical exhaustion.</p><p>“and then the end?” He spoke softly as the music drained, his voice low—gentle, unpressuring.</p><p>“...And then, then the first part returns, though it doesn’t sound quite the same,” you said, fingers curling ever tighter into the fabric of his cloak as the music resumed the steady, slower melody. Your voice was cracking, and you swallowed hard before continuing. “I don’t… I can never tell if it’s in sadness—that the ache has returned—or if it’s in resolution, where they have found a sense of peace after everything, or if it’s something in between… As many times as I’ve heard it, I never seem to find the answer.”</p><p>Your words drifted at the end, fading out into silence as the finale of the music, too, drifted off into the night. </p><p>The two of you stopped moving—though your hold, noticeably, didn’t drop from Sans. He then realized you were trembling against his bones, ever so slightly.</p><p>“kid..?”</p><p>“I can’t. I can’t do this, Sans.”</p><p>Sans couldn’t tell what you meant by that—whether it be the marriage, or being fully here with him—but he refused to listen to such a lame joke.</p><p><a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/2VFxfYbWaX5hE7xKPAbEW9?si=kkXseFj0T7m6nLOxpKmnKA">Though the music was starting up again</a>, he dropped your hands—in favor of wrapping you up in an embrace, pulling you close to him. You allowed it—both hands now curling into the front of his cloak, head lowering to his shoulder.</p><p>“I’m so sorry Sans. I don’t… I shouldn’t be like this. I’m <em> trying, </em> I’m trying to do what’s right, but… Sans, to be caged for the <em> rest of my life</em>; I thought… I thought at some point I might <em> finally</em>…”</p><p>Like the aftershock of an earthquake, your shaking increased; Sans could practically <em> feel </em> you falling apart inside, just beneath his arms. He tightened his hold around you—and, finally, he could feel the tell-tale shudder of wracking tears.</p><p>It wasn’t the overwhelmed, almost <em> fearful </em> sobs of that first night in the kitchen—it was a silent cry, a weeping lament of a lost future, of the potential for freedom. He held you tighter to him, leaning down to press his teeth against your temple—fully dropping his own mask, any pretense of joking or lightheartenedness now gone. You didn’t move away—your quaking only increasing as your grief surfaced, escaping your control. </p><p>Sans heaved a deep breath—partly from the weight of witnessing your pain, and partly for himself—then murmured against your skin. </p><p>“don’t give up, kid. we’ll figure this out together, alright?”</p><p>Once again, there came no verbal reply from you—but, instead, you wrapped your arms around him, sliding your limbs underneath his cloak, hands moving to the back of his shirt. </p><p>Sans wondered if you had ever been comforted like this: a hold of someone who truly cared about you. Sans at least had Papyrus, who... might not have <em>fully </em>understood, but was always there for Sans. To be totally and completely present like this—to have someone see you, and you see them in return—was it as overwhelming for you as it was for him?</p><p>It took quite some time—but whether it be from the warmth from the shared heat, or from the comfort of a closer hold—slowly, eventually, your shaking began to ease. </p><p>You heaved a deep breath against him, the warm air puffing against his sternum as you settled in closer to his neck. Then a second breath came—this one held in tight for a moment, just before you spoke again:</p><p>“Sans, I have to tell you something-”</p><p>“nope,” Sans dismissed, his hand coming up to rest lightly, soothingly at the back of your head. “ya don’t. i know i work as a fool, but i promise, i’m more than just a numbskull. i <em> know</em>.”</p><p>You breathed out something that could have been mistaken as a laugh—but then shook your head against his sternum. “You know? Which of the two things do you know?”</p><p>
  <em> the two things..? </em>
</p><p>Sans pulled back from you slightly, sending a look of confusion your way—but, staring back at him, he could easily see the answer.</p><p>His look then softened, tenderness reaching down and touching deep within, the waters of his soul rippling with affection. It was almost overwhelming as it washed over him, but... under this sensation, he would gladly drown.</p><p>“both, i suppose.”</p><p>Standing in the night, the two of you merely stared at one another without a word shared in that moment—yet, it was filled with a silent discussion: that certain things couldn’t be said out loud, not even here, not even while alone. </p><p>Not yet.</p><p>Not while it wasn’t proper.</p><p>But… it <em> was </em> practically a law that he was excused from all that, wasn’t?</p><p>“kid-”</p><p>He was then cut off.</p><p>Not by you, nor by an errant, searching guard, or even the sudden ceasing of music-</p><p>But by an explosion.</p><p> </p><p>The two of you automatically whipped to face the noise and rushing blast of warm air as the rumbling of debris from the castle crashed like nearby thunder. The south wall of the battlements had been struck—the attack most likely coming from the ocean-</p><p>
  <em> Pirates. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>You snapped back to Sans, holding onto him as you looked at him steadily, evenly. “Go get your brother. Now.”</p><p>He looked completely lost, his eyes flickering to the billows of smoke coming from the castle before returning to you. “kid-”</p><p>You shook your head. “I’ll be fine; I won’t be trying to greet them with open arms like he will.”</p><p>He hesitated a moment more—and you had no doubt that the attackers were well on their way scaling the walls, if not on land before they fired the first shot. “<em>Sans!” </em></p><p>“where will you be safe? where can i take you to hide?”</p><p>“I’ll go to the west wing; it’s all storage, they won’t give two-”</p><p>Sans instantly wrapped his arms around you, then pulled you a step back-</p><p>And then, dizzyingly, you found yourself inside the main hallway of the west wing.</p><p>“hide.” </p><p>He was steadying you, hands on your shoulders as you collected yourself.</p><p>“I… I will. Don’t come back until Papyrus is safe.”</p><p>“alright. forgive me, willya?”</p><p>
  <em> Forgive you-? </em>
</p><p>Your mind went blank for a moment, and you could only process it after he had pulled away—there had been the feeling of boney hands cupping your face, and then teeth pressing against your lips.</p><p>The two of you exchanged a look—yours stunned, his that cheeky, full grin—and then he was gone.</p><p> </p><p><em> Another </em>explosion sounded out—this one sounding more directed to the east—and your mind kicked into overdrive, the survival parts of your brain carved so deep within you that you acted without thought. Adrenaline instantly taking over any bit of sentimentality, your feet led you to one of the deep storage rooms: practically an unnoticeable door next to several grand statues. You quickly locked the plain door behind you, then turned to evaluate your space.</p><p>There were crates upon crates of goods—but nothing of value; from what little light was cast by the moonlit window (as well as, you expected, distant fires that were sparked by the explosion), it seemed there were mostly administrative and cleaning supplies kept in here. Absolutely <em> nothing </em> a pirate in search of loot would look twice at.</p><p>Better <em> yet</em>, in the very back of the room—almost completely obscured by a row of crates—a tiny closet door sat. As soundlessly as you could (<em>who knows how far the pirates had gotten, after all), </em>you made your way to the door and slipped inside. It unfortunately had a lock that seemed to require a key to secure—but, you supposed, this was about as perfect a hiding place as any.</p><p>Once fully enclosed in darkness, you kneeled down on the floor, attempting to bury yourself among the supplies within. </p><p>
  <em> Okay, okay, okay. You’re fine, you’re alive. They probably only want to interrupt the celebration, take what they can, and leave. They’re not going to be looking in a supply closet in some random storage room. Take a breath, and keep quiet, and you’ll make it out of this no problem. </em>
</p><p>Doing just that, you took a deep inhale, and then an exhale—closing your eyes as you attempted to soothe and stifle the pounding of your heart. You spent several minutes like this (<em>or, really who knows how long)</em>—until your heartbeat finally slowed enough to hear your own thoughts over it.</p><p>
  <em> Stay calm, stay smart. You’ve survived far worse than this.  </em>
</p><p>Doing your best to keep your thoughts evenly paced and steady, you rewound time to go over what you’ve seen. </p><p>
  <em> Okay. My first biggest trouble is fire; I think I could stack some crates and squeeze out the window if needed. This room would likely go up pretty quick, though, so I’ll have to stay vigilant for the first sign of approaching smoke.  </em>
</p><p><em> Then, of course, there’s the pirates themselves; I’m glad I changed into clothing that’s not quite so ornate. I </em> <b> <em>might</em> </b> <em> be able to pass as a mere noble or maybe even a commoner, if they’re not really looking. That’s not to say they wouldn’t just as gladly kill one of those—but less likely to give a prolonged chase.  </em></p><p>
  <em> The last of my worries—but still not impossible—is someone coming into here. If they somehow do come in here—and even more unlikely, find this closet—I may be able to at least knock them over with a mop. Perhaps there is some soap or lye in here I could throw into their eyes as well. </em>
</p><p>You reached over to search the contents of the closet-</p><p>-And then you heard the floorboards creak in the storage room.</p><p>Your heart dropped straight through your chest cavity, stomach, and into the floor—pinning you there.</p><p>
  <b> <em>Nononono</em></b>
  <em>, how did they…? </em>
</p><p>Heartbeat thudding, you tentatively rose to your feet and <em> leaned </em> forward—taking great care to make no noise—and looked through the keyhole of the closest, trying to discern what was out there in the darkened room. </p><p>
  <em> I suppose they could’ve picked the lock, but Fells aren’t exactly known for their subtlety; they would’ve just kicked the door down. So how did I not hear…? </em>
</p><p>Caught in the dim light, you saw your answer, briefly flashing past the small bit of vision in the gap: </p><p>A boney, skeletal hand.</p><p>
  <em> Sans! </em>
</p><p>Quiet as could be, you opened up the door before stretching a hand out, finding purchase on fabric, and <em> yanking </em> him inside. </p><p>“hey-!”</p><p>“Shh, it’s just me!” you quietly hushed, closing the door back behind you quickly and carefully. You then blindly reached out—hands finding skull—and pulled him in towards you, leaning up to give his forehead an affectionate kiss, too flooded with relief to be concerned about propriety in this moment.</p><p>“Oh, by the crown! I’m so, so glad you’re alive—I take it if you’re here, then your brother is okay,” you whispered, voice only going as loud as you dared. </p><p>His eyelights were noticeably not present—he must have been <em> terrified</em>, the poor thing. Heart breaking for your friend—for your kingdom, for <em>yourself</em>—you unhesitatingly wrapped him up in a dear hug. It took a moment, but his hands finally moved around you, your body pressed flush against his.</p><p>The hug lingered for a prolonged beat before you finally pulled back, taking a deep breath. He seemed hesitant to let you go, but finally released you. “Okay. Okay. Darn, I should’ve grabbed a candle before coming in here.”</p><p>“oh, i gotta light.”</p><p>As you listened to the sound of Sans rustling through his pockets, you tilted your head, brow furrowing. There was something… odd about Sans’s voice, but maybe he was just haggard and out of breath, the lazybones-</p><p>You then heard the dry scratch of a match being struck, then the hiss of flame. A skeletal skull was lit up in the darkness-</p><p>-But it wasn’t Sans.</p><p>“well look what we have here. heya, there, yer highness.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Seems like we finally got to that pirate tag ;)</p><p>Für Elise isn’t my favorite song, but it was the favorite song of someone very dear to me who is now passed, and I know it may have seemed a bit forced (and especially tropey with Claire de lune following)— so thank you for bearing with my ode to them.</p><p>I hope you guys like this! I’m so he king pumped about this fic, so if you know anyone who might like it too, please share it with them! And thanks for taking the time to read, it means so much for me that people are bothering to read this kind of odd fic 💖</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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